Ouch...

We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey…
Kenji Miyazawa

I’ve mentioned that I don’t like the holidays much. This time of year is always really difficult for me and I’ll admit I’m struggling at the moment. And I’m struggling with some things that aren’t normally even issues… so instead of the good-sized whammy that usually smacks me upside my head, this one feels like a massive, ugly whammy that's kicking me in the ass, too. I’ve always been someone who sees the light at the end of the tunnel; who knows nothing lasts forever… but still, I’m just barely holding it together right now. It’ll pass, I know… and I wish I could just hibernate until it does… wouldn’t that be lovely? But, no, life doesn’t work that way, does it? So I’m trying to find some ways to embrace the pain and burn it for fuel… trying hard. You know what, though? I’d rather burn chocolate... or red wine.

Anyway, I’ve been tagged for a couple of memes and I got another great award today from Heinous. I’ll pass them on soon, I promise… after I wrestle this whammy to the ground and stomp some of the ugly out of it.

Let There Be... Dark...

There is an old wives' tale that says when a lightbulb blows out, it means there's a spirit in the room. It's something to do with the spirit's energy... I guess it's supposed to be like a power surge. I don't know. I do know, however, that after my father died, my entire family blew a lot of lightbulbs. A lot. I even had an electrician come into our house to make sure we didn't have something wrong with our wiring. It was bizarre. It was also kind of cool. I felt like my dad was there with me... and I really needed that.

It happened for quite a while, too, on and off. And yes, I know everyone blows bulbs... but there were times when the occurence was a little less like an old lightbulb and a little more like a 'Ghost Hunters' episode.

When my daughter and niece (both born a few months after my father died), were about three-years-old, they found these little bicentennial American flags that used to sit in a stand on my dad's desk. I should tell you that my dad was very patriotic and he was very, very careful about the way he treated the flag. It had to be flown, folded, and discarded properly, with reverence... always. Anyway, these little flags were attached to sticks with very pointy ends and I was afraid the girls were going to poke each others' eyes out, so I took them. Because they were old and because my mother had enough old stuff cluttering up the house, I asked, "Can I just throw these away?" She said yes. Just as I was (unceremoniously) dropping them into the trash can, she turned on the light... and the bulb sparked, crackled loudly, and blew out. Those flags were out of the garbage before my mother could even say my name, and I was whispering, "Sorry, Dad" as I put them back where the girls found them!

I haven't blown any lightbulbs in a long time. And let me tell you, I wouldn't mind having to replace a couple right about now.

Yeah, It's Monday...

So, this morning, as usual, I take Sundance to the park. As usual, he picks his poop spot with painstaking care (I wonder what, exactly, constitutes a good poop spot in a dog’s eyes?). And he commences pooping. And he keeps pooping. And he keeps on keepin’ on. And after a few minutes, I realize he’s got a hanger. Crap. Literally. A big dingleberry, just hanging out of him. He looks ‘round at me with this, “Good lord, can’t you help me?” look on his face. Pitiful. Thing is, I don’t want to help. It’s icky. And it’s something no one should ever have to do… pull poop out of some other creature’s butt. Nope. It was not on my agenda this morning. But he’s waddling around, still in poop stance, a few feet forward every minute or so, clearly hoping it’s just going to drop out of him. But it’s not dropping anywhere. It’s still just a hangin’. Nice. Crap. Literally. So I bend down, holding my breath, making sure the pick-up bag is wrapped firmly around my hand, and I reach for it, up close to his butt, figuring I can separate it from his hiney pretty quickly. But it doesn’t separate. It’s still hanging. Crap. Literally. So I roll my eyes, say a swear word (or two), grab it (bag still covering my hand, mind you), and pull. And pull. And pull. The poop is attached to something… something very long (like nearly a foot long!!). I don’t know what it was and I didn’t want to look too closely (but it sort of resembled that raffia stuff you see wrapped around country crafty crap... not so literally... in Michaels). I can’t think of anything he could have eaten the past day or so that would look like that (unlike the time he ate the streamers from Ryan’s bike handlebars and I had to pull foot-long sparkly ropes of poop out of his butt for 2 days).

Anyway, that was my Monday morning. How was yours?

Was That A Speedbump?!

WARNING: Full-blown VENT coming up... leave now if you don't want to read any bitching and moaning...



See the lady in the picture? See how she's smiling? See how she just ran over her ex? I SO wanted that to be me about two hours ago. I SO did. But I had my daughter in the car and I didn't want to have to pay for the therapy she'd need after witnessing such an event. So I just drove away. BOILING. And you, my friends, are going to hear why.

My ex came up to Richmond to see his sister for Thanksgiving, so I drove Ryan down there to hang out with him for the weekend. He lives in Alabama (he moved to be with the woman he cheated on me with... and then broke up with... after cheating on her) and for the past couple of years, he's seen Ryan twice a year. Yeah. Nice. He cries all sorts of things... no money (though he makes 4x what I do), can't get away from work, etc, etc. Whatever. Ryan doesn't miss him, as he's not exactly what you'd call attentive when they are together. Don't get me wrong, he loves her. He loves her as much as he is capable of loving anyone... he's simply not that capable.

Anyway, the newest girlfriend feels he should spend more time with Ryan (DUH) so he's been making a bit of an effort. He took her to Alabama for a week in August, over her birthday. He spent a fortune on clothes for her, though he did exactly what I told him not to do (of course he did, because he always knows better than I do) and bought sizes that fit her right at that moment... sizes which she outgrew about 5 minutes after they were purchased (like I said she would). So I had to go out and replace some of the clothes that no longer fit. Yeah. Nice. Like I can afford that. SO... he knows she needs clothes now but what does he buy her this weekend? Guess. Just guess. No, you can't possibly (because none of you are morons) so I'll tell you.

He bought her a purse. OK, I know you're thinking, 'what's the big deal?' Yeah, that's what I would think, too, IF the purse came from Target or WalMart, or someplace like that. But it didn't come from any of those stores. You want to know where it came from? Of course you do. It came from...

Coach.

Coach.

My 9-year-old daughter is now the proud owner of a COACH purse. And for those of you (guys) who don't know what 'Coach' means in Purse World, it means expensive. I'm talking $150.00 kind of expensive! For a little fabric bag!! For a NINE-YEAR-OLD!! Does this make sense to ANYONE OUT THERE?! And the best part? It looks almost identical (to an untrained eye, of course) to the $10.00 bag I got at Target last spring (for myself... I certainly don't own a Coach bag!). People, she wouldn't have known the difference! She didn't even know there was such a thing as a Coach bag until this weekend!

I'm pissed. Can you tell? I'm just SO pissed. If you read my Quote of the Week and my post from yesterday, you'll completely understand why. I'm busting my ass trying make ends meet... trying to teach her that stuff isn't important... that money doesn't grow on trees... that we already have so much and we need to be helping people who have less than we do... that the time we spend together and outside in nature and doing creative things is far more important than shopping. And then he goes and buys her, a 9-year-old, a $150 purse! Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

And when I asked him about it, his response was, "It's none of your business what I spend on her." Yeah. Nice. There was a time when I thought we were at least on the same page where our daughter was concerned (if nowhere else). He has proven me wrong time and again lately, however. Guess you can see why we're not married anymore.

Oh, and though I never say anything bad about my ex to my daughter (EVER), she understood that I was not happy today. I explained that I wasn't upset with her and reiterated the things I mentioned above - the values I want her to grow up with and why I feel they're so important. She said she understood... and I think she did. And then, bless her little Coach-totin' heart, she said,

"Mommy, if you ever want to borrow my bag, you can."

Sigh. I do so love my child. And though I'd like to run over her father's moronic ass with my car, I will be forever grateful that he donated the sperm to make her. And that's about the best you'll ever get out of me where he's concerned. Thanksgiving weekend is officially OVER.

Can You Imagine?!

I spent part of today out Christmas shopping. Ick. You couldn’t pay me enough to shop on ‘Black Friday’ but I since there was something specific I wanted to buy for Herself, I thought I might catch it on a ‘leftover’ sale today. And I did… at nearly 1/3 off! Cool. I didn’t see as many people out as I expected, but those who were out were loading up their carts. At our house this Christmas, the loot pile under the tree will look significantly lighter than it has in the past. This is due to, 1) tight finances, 2) the fact that Ryan no longer believes in Santa, and 3) that I’m just completely sick of all the stuff. Every year I buy my darling, materialistic daughter all the things she desperately wants, only to find she only truly wanted them for about 5 minutes. Not this year. Bless her heart, she knows things are tight money-wise, so when she made her Christmas list, she only put 3 things on it… things she felt she couldn’t live without. OK, so she could totally live without them, but she won’t have to, because I’m a Grinch, not a Bitch (contrary to what some believe). She’ll get those 3 things and a few more… things I think she’ll really use and enjoy.

In a (very) small way, I try to combat the rampant ‘more, more, more’ mentality that abounds during the holidays. Every December, I make Ryan purge her toys and books. For every item on her Christmas list, she has to give something away to Goodwill (and Happy Meal toys don’t count). She does it quite willingly but she’s still always left with a lot of stuff. I have a lot, too, even though I purged the last 2 times I moved. I come from a family of packrats and though I try hard not to be like them, it all just accumulates somehow. And I don’t like it. I’m not materialistic by nature. My ex is… he tries to fill up the hole in his soul with stuff. I don’t do that. I don’t even like to shop! But still, I have too much. And I really, really don’t like it.

In October, Hebba at JeepGirl17 did a bunch of posts about ridding herself of all the stuff she didn’t really need. She gave away one thing every day for a month, which I thought was cool. I intended to do it in November… but I didn’t (remember my procrastination post? Yeah, that’s why). But I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. So today I was reading this article my friend Mel sent me a while ago about this guy who decided he was going to live with only 100 things for a year. In an effort to simplify his life and battle the new Black Plague called Consumerism, he isn’t going to buy anything new for a year. If he gets a gift, he’ll give himself a week to decide whether or not to take it back, re-gift it, or keep it and give something away in its place. Now he’s only counting his own personal items and not the stuff used to manage his household (he has a wife and kids), but I still think it’s ambitious. He’s counting clothes (though he lumped underwear and socks together, which seemed smart to me… that would be Me, the owner of 136 pairs of underwear). He also lumped all his books together into one item, dubbed, ‘the library’ (also smart to me… that would be Me, the owner of 11,895 books). But other that, his stuff is down to 100… stuffs. As I was reading the article, I was reminded of the main character in a book I read once… she lived with only 200 items total. I remember thinking how cool that was. I like the idea of fitting my life into a very small space or being able to carry it with me pretty easily. I like it a lot.

So, with Hebba, Mr. 100, Ms. 200, and my sincere desire to simplify my life in mind, I’m going to start paring down my stuffs. I’m not going to shoot for a particular number of items, but I will guarantee that by the end of the purge, what I keep will be only the things I use or really love.

Vernon Howard, a spiritual teacher and author, once said,

“You have succeeded in life when all you really want is only what you really need.”

Can you imagine?! Yeah, I can, too.

The Tradition Condition...

In my Thanksgiving post, I mentioned that I don't like Christmas. I don't. I'm a Grinch. I admit it. I'm that way for loads of reasons but don't worry, I won't bore you with all of them. I will say, however, that part of my Scroogieness is about the lack of holiday traditions in my life. My family used to observe a few but after my dad died, they were all pretty much forgotten. When Ryan was small, I tried to implement a couple for her sake. But then my marriage ended... and they were pretty much forgotten, too. So we have none.

The thing is, even though I'd be happy to completely forego Christmas every year, I feel kind of terrible that Ryan is missing out. I loved Christmas as a kid... it was a magical time... and I'd like her to love it, too, but not just for the presents. But I don't know what to do... where to start... how to re-discover the magic.

What traditions do you observe? Is there any gotta-do-it-every-year thing you do (preferably one that doesn't involve church or big family get-togethers... or the untangling of Christmas lights... or the buying of expensive gifts... or some ethnicity of which I am not a part)... anything at all you might be willing to share? Do tell...

Let Me Introduce You to My Bail Bondsman...

Ha! Just kidding. I didn't get arrested. I didn't assault anyone with a turkey leg. I pretty much didn't even speak (yes, that was difficult... thanks for asking). And I found out that you can sit across a dining room table from two people and not even look at them. Not once. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant, but I made it through. And I was never so thankful for a meal to end. And that, my friends, is what I will be recording in my gratitude journal tonight!

The Gratitude Attitude

I feel that I should really post some sort of an 'I'm thankful' bit today, full of sweetness and light... but I'm sitting here, dreading the arrival of Lucifer and his faithful minion (aka my brother and sister-in-law), and I have to admit, I'm feeling less-than-sweetness-and-light-filled. Plus, I sort of don't like the idea of Thanksgiving anyway. I know, I know. I don't like Christmas either (but that's another post entirely). No, I just think we ought to be grateful for what we've got all the time and setting aside just one day a year to acknowledge those things seems... I don't know... not quite right. I keep a gratitude journal and every day I record at least 5 things I'm thankful for. It's an amazing tool that helps me to focus on what I have rather than what I'm missing... and that's the key, I think, to real happiness. There are some days I have to just re-write my 'fall-back list' (Ryan, Sundance, my friends, my family, my job), because some days, when sweetness and light is hidden behind a big dark cloud, it's hard to see all the blessings. But they're there... always. And the clouds always part, eventually, and the light shines through. And I might just be more grateful for that than anything.

But tonight I hope to be able to write in my journal, "I didn't have to be bailed out of jail for assaulting Lucifer and/or his minion with a turkey leg." Keep your fingers crossed.

Ego Boost

Some mother-daughter moments just beg to be recorded for posterity...

Ry: Mommy, why do we have an unstable economy?
Me: Oh lord, Ry... couldn't you ask an easier question?
Ry: But I want to know.
Me: So do I. But it's not something I can really explain.
Ry: Yes you can. I'll understand.
Me: It's not you I'm worried about. I don't understand economics. Honestly, it's one of those subjects that makes me feel really stupid.
Ry: But you're not stupid! You're one of the smartest people I know!
Me: Awwwww, thanks, Sweetheart.
Ry: Of course, I don't know very many people. And a lot of the people I know are 9-years-old. And most of them are pretty dorky...
Me: Ry?
Ry: Yes?
Me: You can stop anytime.

Blog-O-Rooter

I'm officially blog-blocked. I've been thinking about a post for a couple of days now. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. It's the worst case of blog-block I've had since starting this little missive factory. Dunno why. I need me some Blog-O-Rooter. I figure I'll ramble a bit here to clear my head (BEWARE: Snore Alert) and maybe I'll come up with something that's actually interesting for tomorrow's post. So... since Thursday...

I went on a field trip with Ryan's class to Jamestown on Friday. We had to get up at 4:30 in the morning. It was cold. And dark. I was grumpy. I spent 7 hours total on a bus with a crapload of 4th graders and their mommies. It was loud. It was a long trip. I tried not to be too grumpy. Jamestown was simply not that interesting, though I'll admit I did learn a few things. Mostly that the white man was a big, fat, arrogant bastard back in the olden days. Oh, and my sister-in-law (wife of the brother I don't speak to anymore) was on the field trip, too. She ignored me completely. So I ignored her right back. Nice, huh? Yeah, Thanksgiving is going to be a joy here.

Speaking of... I was planning to go away for Thanksgiving. I didn't want to spend it here, in the company of the above-mentioned brother and sister-in-law. But my mom said that if she couldn't spend the holiday with ALL of us, she wouldn't spend it with ANY of us. Manipulative? You bet. Effective? Oh yeah. I wasn't going to be the reason my mom spent Turkey Day alone, so I agreed to stay. Though why she'd want to spend the day in the company of three people who can't stand each other is beyond me. And get this... she got the Pictionary game out yesterday. When I asked why, she said, "Oh, I thought we could play it on Thanksgiving!" WTF?! Methinks someone's sailin' down De-Nial River. Luckily, my ex is coming to Richmond to spend the holiday with his sister, so as soon as I finish eating, I'll be hopping in the car and driving Ryan there to meet him. She'll get spend the weekend with her dad and I have a built-in excuse to eat and run. And that, my bloggy friends, is something to be THANKFUL for!!

Something not to be so thankful for, though, is that Ryan has walking pneumonia. She's had a cold and that stupid nagging cough that lasts forEVER. I knew there was pretty much nothing we could do but wait it out but I ran her to the doc this morning, just to be sure. And I paid $50 to find out what I already knew. He wants her out, running around as much as possible, so she can cough all the crap up and out of her system. She wasn't happy to hear that, as all she wanted was something to STOP the coughing. No such luck. And you know, though I started this paragraph feeling not-so-thankful, I shouldn't have. I know all too well that she could be in much worse shape... so I'll revise my thinking... I'm very thankful that all she has is a pain-in-the-ass cough (but let me assure you, if she keeps whining about it, that's not all that's going to be wrong with her).

Oh... I started a new book last week. Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. My friend Colin gave it to me for my birthday last year (thanks, Col), as I'd wanted to read it for a while. Nearly a year later, I finally got around to starting it. I actually gave a copy to my sister-in-law (the one I love, not the one I ignore) and she's reading it now. She told me she hasn't been able to put it down since she started it. I know why. It's amazing. If you haven't read it, check it out. It's about 6,000 pages long, but don't let that turn you off... it's worth it.

What else? Oh... yeah... I met someone this weekend. Someone nice. Someone funny and smart and cute, who didn't vote for McPalin (that's hard to find in these parts, believe me). And there was a little bit of kissing (she says, blushing). And it was very nice. And we're going out again on Wednesday. And that's all I'm sayin'.

Writer's Workshop... I'm Bothered...

It’s that time again – Writer’s Workshop time. Kathy over at Mama’s Losin’ It had some good prompts this week and I chose:

Something that bothered me this week…

Note: Feel free to substitute all variations of the word ‘bother’ with the appropriate variations of the word ‘horrify.’

I’ve been following the story of an 8-year-old boy in Arizona who recently killed his father and his father’s friend with a rifle. The crime appears to have been premeditated and it’s possible the boy will be indicted for murder (murder charges can be filed against anyone who has reached the age of eight in Arizona).

I’m bothered by this situation for so many reasons, not the least of which is this child’s age. He's just one year younger than my own daughter. The idea that she, or one of her little friends, could be involved in something so horrible is beyond my comprehension.

I’m bothered by the fact that the little boy has no documented behavioral issues to date, nor do the men he killed. Police and prosecutors are investigating the possibility that he was being abused and the shootings were self-defense (or retaliation).

I’m bothered by the fact that I’m actually hoping he was abused because at least it would explain how a child could do something so seemingly sinister... and hoping a child has been abused, for any reason, is a truly horrible thing.

I’m bothered that this child felt, for reasons yet to be determined, that killing two people was the best solution to whatever problem he was facing.

I’m bothered that he didn’t feel he had anyone to turn to for help or guidance.

I’m bothered that an 8-year-old had access to a gun and ammunition.

I’m bothered that any state has established a law which allows them to file murder charges against 8-year-olds; and that any state determined it might even be necessary to do so.

I’m bothered by the fact that he could be incarcerated for the next ten or twelve years; and that he might possibly deserve (under the law, anyway) to be incarcerated for the next ten or twelve years.

I’m bothered that stories of children killing other children or adults are becoming less shocking because they’re becoming more frequent.

I’m bothered that we live in a society which embraces violence in its entertainment and that many children are exposed to it early on and at alarming levels.

I’m bothered that our Constitutional right to bear arms, or rather the consistently, persistently irresponsible manner in which we administer that right, has resulted in the gun violence we see and hear about every day, and that children are often exposed to it in real life or on the news.

I’m bothered that no matter how this turns out, two people are dead at the hands of a child, and that little boy's life has been irrevocably changed in a way that no child should ever have to face.

I'm bothered. I'm horrified. And I'm just so sad.

Wordful Wednesday...

I'm brain-dead today. Runnin' on empty. I got nothin'... except a compulsion to post somethin'. Luckily, Angie over at SevEn CloWn CirCus gave me an easy out. Today is Wordful Wednesday over at her wonderful blog... where you post a picture and tell about it. Here's mine.



I had to pick Ryan up early yesterday, as she had a fever. There's some sort of crud going around her school right now and she caught it. When we got home, I gave her an ice cream cone, thinking it would help her throat a bit. It did but as the afternoon wore on, she felt progressively worse and by early evening she was crying and miserable. Though I try to avoid meds if possible, I cracked open the kiddie Motrin and once it kicked in, she felt better... a lot better (clearly). When I came into the room later, I found her sitting innocently in the chair, buried under a blanket, her face... well... see above. When I asked her if she'd had another ice cream cone (without permission), I could see the wheels turning... 'Do I lie or tell the truth? How much trouble will I get in?' I said, "Ry, I suggest you think long and hard before you answer..." Finally she admitted to sneaking into the freezer. Whew. I hate it when she lies. When I told her to go look in the mirror, she said, "Wow. I guess it's a good thing I told the truth, huh?" She has always had a knack for stating the obvious, that girl of mine.

It Sucks To Be Me...

There's a really brilliant Broadway musical called Avenue Q (pretty much Muppets for grown-ups), which I saw in London last year. One of the best numbers in it is a song called, It Sucks To Be Me. My friend Hugh and I have a 'sucks to be me' competition every now and then and had we done it tonight, I'm reasonably certain I would have won...

Ryan's teacher has this reward system in place wherein the kids get stickers for going above and beyond the call of duty in terms of behavior or citizenship. After they fill up a card, they get a prize. For her prize, Ryan always chooses to be teacher for the day (it plays to her significant bossy side). She was teacher just last week but she informed me tonight at dinner that she's already filled up another sticker card.

Me: Wow! What did you do to fill it up so quickly?
Ry: I've just been really good and today I cleaned up a big mess before Miss Masters asked.
Me: Hmmm... maybe I should give you stickers at home. Hey, for your prize you could be 'Mommy for the day'!
Ry: Good lord, NO! There's NO WAY I'd want your job!

Geez. It really must suck to be me. Sigh.

Tiny Bubbles...

Have you ever washed out your mug but not rinsed it properly, so that your next cup of tea tastes like soap? Man, I really hate it when that happens.

To Save Sanity...

Ryan had a sleepover on Friday night. How is it that three 9-year-old girls can reach the decibel level equal to that achieved in Emirates stadium when Arsenal is winning (the loudest place I think I've ever been)? My God. On Saturday morning (as soon as the Tylenol kicked in) we headed to the park, where I encouraged (and by 'encouraged' I mean 'ordered') them to rid themselves of the energy (and the sugar, obtained by ingesting 586 marshmallows... each, toasted in the firepit Friday evening) in their sweet (and by 'sweet' I mean 'diabolical') little systems. It poured much of Friday night and into Saturday morning, so the park was damp (and by 'damp' I mean 'swamplike'). I didn't care (even though it required a complete change of clothes before lunch).

Luckily it was unseasonably warm...

They spent much time upside down... and spinning...

And looking generally windblown...

It was a pretty good time, all in all, and my sanity lived to fight another day (more or less).